Soul Food

by Gareth Lewis

  And then the thing fades into view. As though it's always been here. Waiting.

  It's almost on top of me, though of course it doesn't acknowledge my presence.

  I hear Jake's breath catch in awe. He'll be occupied for a couple of minutes. Though his vague smile can't hide the terror lacing his expression.

  The same terror that gnaws at my stomach and soul. The terror forcing me to look away from it. The terror I refuse to fall prey to.

  I stand up, and step forward. Facing it head on, and staring into those voids where eyes should be. It drifts unhurriedly towards me. Or towards the body near me, and the tasty treat soon to emerge.

  It doesn't even seem to register my presence. In as much as those voids can be seen to focus. Yet still I feel its gaze. It makes me think of all the things I've done that could call it to me.

  I've killed. Bad guys, admittedly. But they could still have affected me.

  And there's the hypocrisy of protecting Jake. He's a criminal now.

  But I know him. Is that the only difference? That selfish desire to protect my own? And an indifference for those who aren't my own.

  I didn't see them as real people. Just as the demon doesn't see us. Am I really any different?

  Our gazes are broken as it begins to feed, but I force myself to keep watching.

  I realise a tension that had built up in my head eases slightly as it's gaze moves off of me. Was that what caused the damage Carver found? Has it just done similar to me? I don't feel any different.

  No sooner has my stomach started to unknot than it suddenly turns inside out instead.

  My legs give out and I'm on my hands and knees, hurling my guts out. The gun must have fallen as I went down, but I can't find it.

  It wasn't this bad last time, was it?

  When the worst of the initial wave passes, I glance around to find Jake in a similar state. And the demon writhing where it stands, as though against an unseen cage.

  Carlisle's device. It must be.

  Did Stone's soul escape it? I don't suppose it matters. More important things.

  I go for my back-up piece, but armed figures step into the doorway before I have a chance to fumble it out. They train their weapons on us, but don't fire. There's an opportunity, then.

  Carlisle steps between them, his attention focussed on the demon. He's enraptured by his prize.

  At least the immediate problem's dealt with. And this one hasn't started shooting at us yet. So how do I get us out of this?

  35

  Carlisle is almost giddy as he leads the way down the stairs. He often glances back at the demon being guided by one of his acolytes at the rear.

  The device pretty much looks like a briefcase with a few buttons and a dial on it. More functional than interesting, and slightly disappointing.

  My stomach is no longer crippling, but whatever the device does to hold the demon is leaking over to the rest of us. There's still an odd feeling of disorientation. I doubt Carlisle and his flunkies would be so close if it risked long-term damage. Unless they're planning to capture an angel soon.

  Another pair of acolytes are a couple of paces behind Jake and I. Guns trained on us, and a fanatical devotion to Carlisle's word all that prevents them pulling the triggers. I'm sure they're also glancing back at it, which is slightly disturbing.

  'Beautiful, isn't it,' says Carlisle. 'Hardly pretty. But there's a majestic, transcendent beauty to its perfection.'

  'If you say so,' I say. 'I've always been more of a Dadaist myself. What do you plan doing with it?'

  'Studying it, of course. Experimenting.' There's a glee to his overly calm tone. 'Science. To understand it and its ilk. To bring them to heel.' There might have been a bit of a strain to his voice with the last bit. A forced emphasis, as though to convince himself.

  I don't ask his intentions for us. I suspect we're just unhappy meals on legs for his test subject.

  I just have to hope Jake's ready to move when an opportunity arises. He's also glancing back at the thing a bit too often for my liking, so I can't be sure his head's in the game. And he is handcuffed. I've simply got my hands on my head.

  I presume destroying the device will cause the demon to disappear, back to its usual spot. But the guy controlling it will likely focus on controlling it unless pushed. That means taking the two with guns first. Then? Can't see a gun on Carlisle. Can the demon be controlled to attack us? I've seen no evidence it can affect the living. The controller probably won't waste time on that if we take out the shooters, and he's armed. Take a gun off of them and shoot him next, then deal with Carlisle.

  Provided I get the opportunity before any more of his acolytes join us. The opportunity is unlikely. They're too careful.

  The bastards behind us are smart enough to keep their distance. I have to assume a degree of proficiency.

  In transit may be our best bet. Unless they came on a bus. A van's more likely. They probably reacted to Stone's actions, so might not have had much planned. Though they reached us fast, so must have had things in place. They wouldn't have this hardware lying about their hotel rooms.

  They need something large and obscured for their passenger. I doubt they plan to shove him in a trunk.

  The stink of gasoline greets us as we emerge into the foyer. As do a number of bodies, Stone's men and some cultists.

  Carlisle slows on seeing them. Since I can't imagine him caring much, I presume he expected them to be alive. He presumably left them on guard. Which means there may be hostiles about. Hostiles hostile to the hostiles currently holding us prisoner, that is.

  The cultists behind us glance about for more immediate threats. They're too far away for me to take advantage of the distraction.

  Carlisle turns to issue orders, the triumphalism gone from his face.

  He doesn't get a chance. The sudden lurch in my stomach precedes a disturbing inhaled scream from the demon as it collapses in on itself.

  My stomach and senses return faster than those of the guards. I leap at them, kicking one in the knee and wrestle for the gun with the other. I push wide as he tries shooting, sending the shot into the ceiling. And vibrating up my arm.

  My elbow in his throat staggers him. Even glassy-eyed fanaticism doesn't see you through a collapsed windpipe.

  His grip on the gun loosens enough for me to rip it from his hands and slam the butt into his head. He drops.

  There's a shot from the other. I spin to see Jake struggling awkwardly with him, still handcuffed and having just taken a bullet to the leg. They struggle for control of the gun.

  I shoot the cultist in the chest, then turn on the one with the control device. He's going for his gun, but too late. He drops with the next shot, and I turn on Carlisle.

  He's unarmed. And looks like he's struggling with what just happened to his plans. 'What...?'

  The only sound is from Jake's struggles. A glance shows him lying on the floor by the prone cultist, hands still cuffed behind him, kicking the man's head in with his boot and looking about.

  'The demon's gone,' I tell him.

  The kicking dies away, but he continues glancing around in hopes I'm wrong.

  There's movement from the doorway off to the side. Marcy emerges into the lamplight. She's holding a device that looks a lot more cobbled together than Carlisle's. It's got wires bulging out and everything. Far more mad scientist aesthetic.

  'I always was a better designer than you,' she says. 'Did you think I couldn't work out how you controlled them?'

  Carlisle's expression totters between devastated and angry. 'But, that...' Fury seems to interfere with his wordage.

  'If vibrations can control them, they can also destroy them.'

  'But why?' asks Carlisle, truly confused.

  'Why?'

  'You can't think that's the only one,' says Carlisle. 'I'll find others to experiment on. What do you think you gain from this? Don't you see what I'm doing? We can choose our afterlife.'

  'I know,' says Marc
y, sounding tired. 'But you still think there're only two options.'

  'What, you think you can escape them?' Carlisle almost laughs. 'You need to face reality, child. Rather than running from it. Our souls will be prey to one or the other. Which do you truly think yours will attract?'

  'We've all been broken by these things,' Marcy says as she fiddles with her device.

  What's she doing? And do I want to stop her?

  'But I see clearly what you've missed.' She smiles, almost sadly. 'You can affect demons because you're affecting the vibrational level on which they exist. Where souls also apparently exist.'

  'No,' Carlisle shakes his head in realisation. 'We can control them. We can choose our fate.'

  'Like you chose the fate of the man you fed to your pet demon. You're insane, Ian. And I'm sorry I can't help you. But I also can't let you carry on spreading your insanity.'

  'No,' he holds up his hands as though that'll stop what's coming.

  I take a step back, just in case.

  Marcy points the device at him, presses a button, and Carlisle drops. Dead.

  I felt a slight nausea, but seem otherwise unaffected.

  'It doesn't just destroy demons,' she says. 'It destroys souls. And apparently kills their host. Not sure if it's because the soul's gone, or the damage done. Not that it matters.'

  I lower my gun and turn towards her. I don't holster it though.

  'You didn't try to stop me?' she asks.

  'Not sure I could arrest him. But I know what he'd done.'

  'So he had it coming?' she asks.

  I nod.

  'And I just murdered him in front of you.'

  'Not sure anyone'd believe how,' I say.

  'Are you going to arrest me for it?'

  'Not that one,' I say.

  She looks away. 'You know?'

  'Yes,' I say. 'Carlisle had no reason to kill his loyal puppy. And if he'd known of the demon here, he'd have been after it before. It had to be someone who knew about the demon. Stone wouldn't have left the body to be found. But someone could have learned he fed it - he probably thought he was containing it - and led Mortimer here so the attention might dissuade Stone, or see him uncovered. Someone who knew about sites with demons. And who needed to get rid of Mortimer to stop her making their life a misery.'

  'She just wouldn't go away,' says Marcy. She sounds tired, but also relieved it's almost over. 'I lost it. Guess I'm as broken as everybody else. And this desperate little life was the asylum I built around myself. I think I realised how damaged I was when I didn't even care that I'd killed her. In the quiet moment after everything was done, and I waited for you to come calling. She was nothing. She didn't even matter to me, except that I knew she should.'

  'You don't have to do this,' I say. The words sound hollow on my tongue. But I can't think of any that'll stop her doing the inevitable.

  'I'm sorry,' she says, meeting my gaze. 'I choose the third option.' She turns the device around, presses a button, and she's done.

  I stroll over to her side, bend down, and close her eyes.

  Why'd you have to leave me alone in this?

  Easing her fingers off the device, I take it and approach the nearest thug. A quick search locates a lighter. Don't know whether he smokes, but I'd expect them to bring lighters to an arson if they didn't want Stone irritated.

  'I'm sorry,' Jake says as I help him up. He grunts a bit at the pain from his leg. 'About her.'

  'She chose her fate,' I say. Maybe a bit harsh. 'Probably as close to happiness as any of us'll get.'

  'Aren't you a regular ray of sunshine,' says Jake. He leans against me as he limps alongside. 'I sure am glad you didn't shoot me.'

  I flip the lighter on as we reach the front doors, and chuck it back into the gas.

  The flames whoosh up behind us.

  I let Jake sit on the hood of a car across the street, then pull my phone. I call in. We'll soon have company.

  Jake laughs. Or tries to. He's tired. I check his leg. It isn't bleeding too badly. Paramedics will be here soon, so no point me doing a ham-fisted job on it unless he starts getting faint.

  'I've messed this up,' he says.

  I can't argue with that.

  'Maybe I should join her,' he says.

  'Not taking the cuffs off,' I say. 'I haven't given up on you. We've been scarred by the experience, but I refuse to accept we're broken.'

  We stare a while as the spreading flickers of the blaze become visible in windows.

  'I still want to see it,' he says. 'Want to bring it back.'

  'I know. That's why I can't lie this out. Not totally, anyway. You need help.'

  'You really think there's any help for this?'

  'I know I'm not shooting you, so this is the only option. Marcy was in as clear a mind as she could be. You're not. So shut up, and do as I say.'

  We fall into silence again. Broken by a man running out of the hotel on fire.

  We watch him run, stumble to the ground, and roll about trying to extinguish the flames.

  'Should probably have checked whether any of them were still alive first,' says Jake.

  'Probably.'

  36

  'You can't think you'll get away with this,' Wolfe says with a cold anger. A relatively mild anger, because she's trying to convince herself I can't.

  I don't necessarily disagree. But I've little to lose.

  'Throwing your partner under the bus.' She says it with a distaste that's obviously false coming from IA.

  It's not as though I turned him in to gain anything. He needs help. I've done what I consider best for him, so there's no harm in using it for other things.

  We're sitting in their interview room, where I went voluntarily, without counsel.

  'Jake needs help,' I say. 'He has some kind of PTSD.'

  'And whose fault is that, you think?' asks Wolfe.

  'It's the job.'

  'Most cops don't murder people.'

  'Bad people,' I say. 'Both times he considered himself in danger. The only thing he did wrong was not reporting the killings.'

  'You don't get to decide what he did wrong,' says Wolfe.

  'I'm genuinely not sure he remembered killing Eden until I arrested him for it. He has some trauma...'

  'Yes, everyone has some pathetic excuse. He killed. After having illicit meetings with criminals. He was in Stone's pocket.'

  'As I said in my statement,' I say with admirable patience. 'He admitted Stone tried to coerce him into working for him with undefined allegations regarding his father.'

  It's unfortunate I have to use Jake's father like this, but he's off the force. It's mainly damage limitation at this point. If I don't stop Jake, I'm sure he'll go looking for another demon or angel. And his next sacrifice might not be as deserving. I don't think he could live with that if he gets better.

  When he gets better. This will work.

  'Don't think Stone's death helps your case either,' says Wolfe.

  It does, at least a little. They picked up the guy I shot in the leg. He'd limped barely a block out the back door, and told all he knew in return for a reasonable deal and some good pain medication. If I hadn't arrested Jake, we'd both be on the hook for the goon he killed.

  As it is, there's a witness that I wasn't on Stone's payroll. But who thought Jake was, though from what I've heard he isn't clear on the details.

  It doesn't help with my history of excessive force, nor does the body count - only two of whom died from me shooting them, I hasten to add - but at least it gets rid of the nastier rumours.

  The building didn't completely burn down. And some parts were whole enough that forensics supports my story. It'll have to be condemned though. Once ownership issues are ironed out.

  Mortimer's death is being written off as part of a gang war between Stone and Carlisle's cult.

  Marcy probably wouldn't care that she isn't blamed, but it feels like something I can do. And she's just considered a victim of Carlisle's old obsession wit
h her.

  It doesn't hang together as neatly as I might like, but the truth will hardly help. And with the main actors dead, there won't be much in the way of legal proceedings to call attention to the holes.

  'You left a lot of bodies here,' says Wolfe.

  'Only four I know I shot, and one of those is still alive.'

  'Forensics haven't confirmed how the fire started.'

  'There was gas all over the place, and people shooting. I'm sure they know some science.' I was lucky it didn't ignite during the firefight, but you never really think of that stuff in the moment. The hostiles were a more immediate threat than the possibility of immolation.

  'You still ignored orders. Twice now. You were confined to desk duty.' There's a frustration to her rage. She's losing traction with the case. Yesterday it was promotion material. Today I may conceivably get away with a reprimand.

  If I play this right.

  'I came in without a union rep,' I say. 'Because this is supposed to be just a debriefing, and because I want to help Jake. If this is going to turn into another string of accusations, do I need a rep?'

  Wolfe grinds her teeth. 'We're done for now. But next time, by all means bring your rep. Or even a proper lawyer.' She stands and strides out. But there's a mild sense of defeat. She'll soon look elsewhere for a big case.

  'Interview suspended,' says Sinclair, tidying up after her. He turns off the recording devices and stands to leave.

  'You ever work with Stone?' I ask.

  He looks at me, his expression bored. 'Not really. Saw him around when I was a rookie.'

  'Only the shootout at the hotel then?'

  There's a hint of something in his eyes, too quick to distinguish. 'You've read records of the incident, then. Yes, I was in on that. Convinced me I didn't want to be on the streets.'

  'Understandable. Certainly the way Stone's records of the incident put it.'

  He tries to maintain a calm expression, but the façade doesn't quite hold against the cold panic. He thought he was finally free. Though there no doubt remained a sliver of concern that Stone's blackmail files would show up. But he'd started to convince himself they were a myth.